


The Stockings and the Silver Fox

by RomancebyFaye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Greg, Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Garters, Greg in stockings, Lace Panties, M/M, No Feminization, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Stockings, Top Mycroft, minor mentions of Johnlock, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 23:05:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4540863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomancebyFaye/pseuds/RomancebyFaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has become a normal practice for Mycroft to bring Greg a gift back when he returns from his trips. This time, it's something that Greg was not expecting.</p><p>But really, Mycroft asks him for so little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stockings and the Silver Fox

The Stockings and the Silver Fox

 

* * *

 

Greg was in the shower when he heard a knock on the bathroom door. He smiled wide, knowing that meant Mycroft had gotten home earlier than expected.  
  
“Come on in, My,” he called out.  
  
It still made him laugh sometimes at how different the Holmes brothers were. One of the main topics of complaint when Greg and John went out for a pint was how oblivious Sherlock was to personal boundaries.  
  
Once, John had told Greg that he began to burst into the lavatory on Sherlock without any warning or consideration to the various private activates that occurred therein to prove his point. Of course, it hadn’t worked at all. In fact, if anything, John told him it had made the problem worse. He remembered trying not to laugh as John had mournfully cradled his pint in his hands as he wondered aloud if he’d be able to use the loo in private ever again.  
  
Greg wouldn’t mind his privacy being invaded every now and then if it kept his own lover closer to home. At least John’s lover didn’t get pulled out of the country to god-knew-where on a regular basis. He pushed the thought aside, knowing it was just a flash of selfishness. After all, Mycroft had never asked him to stop doing his own dangerous job, though Greg suspected there were eyes on him at all times in one way or another.  
  
At the beginning he might have found that disconcerting. Now, it was just another part of being with the man who was Mycroft Holmes.  
  
While he was musing, his very well mannered partner opened the door and stepped into the en suite as Greg finished rinsing shampoo from his hair.  
  
“Want to join me?” Greg asked, peeking his head out from the heavy curtain.  
  
“Not today, my dear,” Mycroft said as he propped against the double sinks. “I availed myself of the facilities available in my suite before we flew out.”  
  
Greg waggled his eyebrows. “I’m sure I could get you dirty again.”  
  
Mycroft’s lips quirked in the one of the genuine displays of expression reserved only for the rare few whom Mycroft considered family. “I have no doubt. However, I must step into my study to wrap up a few items of business.” He pushed off the counter, moving to trace a finger down Greg’s jaw. “Perhaps when I have finished…” he leaned forward kissing Greg softly before he drew his bottom lip into his mouth, sucking and nibbling on it suggestively.  
  
Greg groaned into Mycroft’s mouth, considering pulling him into the shower in spite of his refusal. Mycroft ended the kiss and stepped out of reach, his eyes broadcasting that he sensed his lover’s thoughts. Greg laughed, knowing how fond his partner was of the particular suit he was wearing.    
  
“Oh no you don’t, Gregory. I think three suits lost in that particular fashion are quite enough.” His tone was admonishing, but the bright flush of his cheeks spoke to the incredible memories that both men were now replaying in regards to the noble sacrifice those three suits had made.  
  
Greg watched, still grinning, as Mycroft pulled the door open, calling over his shoulder before he closed it, “I should only need half an hour, I merely wanted to let you know I had arrived home.”  
  
Greg ducked back into the shower, giving himself another thorough scrubbing in preparation of his and Mycroft’s upcoming reunion sex. In three years, it had yet to disappoint.  
  
*****  
  
It had been a shock the first time Mycroft had asked Greg to dinner. Up until then, all their conversations had taken place either in Greg’s office, in Mycroft’s office - to which Greg was summoned - or in Mycroft’s car - where Greg had also been picked up as he was leaving his flat or the Yard. When he had received the invitation to dine, Greg had gone, sure that he was mistaken in the intent, because how could a man as powerful and as glorious and as intelligent as Mycroft Holmes be interested in a man as worn down and as ragged and as ordinary as Gregory Lestrade?  
  
But that dinner had changed everything. Somehow, during that shared meal, Greg had glimpsed the very powerful British Government as more than that. He had seen Mycroft as a man much like himself; lonely, struggling under the strain of his position, someone who couldn’t afford to show any exhaustion or weakness in front of the wrong eyes. That night, he had been allowed to glimpse Mycroft Holmes as a man of flesh and blood, a man who had needs and desires just like any other. And he, ordinary Gregory Lestrade,  had been chosen as someone who could be trusted to show such things.  
  
He had been hopelessly lost to Mycroft Holmes the Man, and Mycroft Holmes the British Government since.  
  
In the beginning of their relationship, Mycroft had shown an unexpected tendency to buy Greg presents. Small comments or complaints that Greg had spoken of only in passing were grasped by his lover and used as inspiration. Greg had accepted the gifts at first, since when he had mentioned the fact that he couldn’t do the same had obviously hurt Mycroft feelings, though Mycroft would forever deny such a thing was possible. Even back then Greg had been more attuned to Mycroft than anyone else was. The fact that Mycroft truly enjoyed giving them to Greg made it hard to turn them down.  
  
First, he had been given a fancy phone - to be used to communicate with Mycroft when he was away. Then a brand new, state-of-the-art laptop - ostensibly to be used for the same as well as when he brought work home. A new coat came after - it _had_ been winter in London and Greg’s _was_ a bit old.  
  
For that reason, Greg had accepted them, putting aside his own pride to see the enjoyment Mycroft had received from the things he had chosen being used by Greg.  
  
And then Greg had made the mistake of looking up the model of a watch Mycroft had given him when his had met its end in the Thames.  
  
He had had to sit with his head down between his knees for almost ten minutes, and then he’d had to do it again once he made sure he hadn’t misread the decimal places the first time.  
  
Once he had calmed down, he had called Mycroft. That night they had met for dinner in Mycroft’s flat and had what Greg would later come to call their first Relationship Negotiation.  
  
He had been woefully outmatched.  
  
Greg wanted only practical things he could use, Mycroft pointed out all items have a function and he had only purchased things for Greg that Greg himself had mentioned were worn or failing. Greg countered that his gifts were too extravagant; Mycroft argued quality items need not be replaced often, if at all. Round and round they went as Mycroft dissected each of Greg’s arguments with ease.  
  
Somehow, at the end, Greg had still found himself a very confused owner of a ridiculously expensive watch. Still, he had been granted terms of gift-giving he felt he could live with; if by nothing more than his sheer obstinacy rather than Mycroft’s eloquent arguments.  
  
It had been difficult to be too upset with the results when a very aroused Mycroft had backed him up against the door of his study and proceeded to show him just how much he had enjoyed their negotiation by fucking Greg against the door.  
  
Afterwards, as Greg had lain crumpled on the floor completely naked, Mycroft had stood over him, an extremely satisfied smile on his lips as he straightened out his suit. He had then reopened the negotiations to discuss including gifts that could be enjoyed by both of them in the bedroom. The results of that particular negotiation had left them with a rather expansive collection of extremely well crafted sexual paraphernalia over the last three years.  
  
Now, it was almost a sure thing that when Mycroft returned from an extended absence, he would bring something home for Greg. It was always a toss up as to whether his gifts would be something practical that Greg really could use, or practical according to Mycroft, or something a bit more…sensual.  
  
For this reason, when Greg finally finished with his shower, the elegantly wrapped black and silver box waiting on the bed wasn’t that much of a surprise. He sat on the bed in his fluffy robe and tore off the paper, smiling in anticipation for what he would find.  
  
However, in three years, nothing Mycroft had given him was quite like the items lying in the black and silver tissue paper printed with a name in French that Greg had never heard of. They weren’t anything Greg had ever mentioned wanting.  
  
The items certainly weren’t anything that Mycroft had ever seemed interested in before; but then again, Mycroft rarely asked Greg for anything in the bedroom. Even though Greg had only to mention something and Mycroft would always oblige him enthusiastically.    
  
Greg took a deep breath as he lifted the silky black stockings and garter belt from the paper. They felt delicate in his fingers, slipping and sliding over each other as he tested the fine grain of them. A pair of sheer, lacy panties were settled further in the paper, the cut similar to the pants Greg usually wore, but cut quite a bit higher in the arse.  
  
The black satin bow in the back was definitely new, too.  
  
*****  
  
Greg knocked on the door to Mycroft’s study, stepping inside quickly when Mycroft said, “Come in.”  
  
He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, trying to even out his breathing as he watched Mycroft shuffle files together on his desk before he placed them in a neat stack to the side. When Greg didn’t step any further into the room, his lover looked up at him from his seat, his eyebrow raising slightly at the sight of Greg in his robe.  
  
The older man took a deep breath, fighting the heat of the flush that was rising from his chest to his face.  
  
It had taken him several long minutes to figure out how everything was supposed to work, not to mention that the process of getting it all on had been unexpectedly complicated. The fact that certain parts of his anatomy were obviously not meant to fit in the pair of lace panties he was wearing had not been helped by the unbidden erection that had seen fit to show itself because of the surprisingly enticing feel of the lace against said parts.  
  
“Gregory?” Mycroft asked, blinking at him before turning his chair to face him fully. His sharp eyes were alight with obvious interest as Greg’s shaky fingers pulled at the tie of his robe. Mycroft’s entire focus shrank down to that of his lover as the older man stepped farther into the room.  
  
Being the object of such intense focus from Mycroft Holmes was usually unspeakably dangerous for anyone on the receiving end.  For Gregory only was it a different type of danger, one he welcomed wholly, with body and soul. And really, Mycroft asked him for so little while he gave so much.  
  
With a shrug of his shoulders, Greg dropped his robe to the floor.  
  
Whenever Greg did something that well and truly shut down that razor sharp mind of Mycroft‘s, it would result in the genius’ body going into a strange state of physical stasis. It was usually only for a moment - the space of a few heartbeats at most - while Mycroft’s mind sorted out the new information and settled on a course of action. Most wouldn’t even notice, but Greg _knows_ Mycroft, he _knows_ how rare those moments of realigning the information in his head are, and, though they are few, he treasures each and every one of them that he manages to cause.  
  
When he drops the robe, Mycroft freezes.  
  
The man doesn’t blink, he doesn’t breathe. Not even a finger twitches as Greg stands there, wrapped up in Mycroft’s gift. Up until now, the longest time Greg has seen Mycroft frozen has been about two seconds.  
  
It takes a full five seconds before Mycroft sucks in a breath through his nose, his nostrils flaring as he does. The air is pushed out between bared teeth and accompanied by a low growl.  
  
“ _Gregory_.”  
  
That reaction, more than anything Mycroft could have said or done, makes Greg feel like a sex god.  
  
He licks his lips slowly, trailing his fingers through his silver speckled chest hair in the way he knows drives Mycroft crazy. Down, down, down he drags his fingers in looping twirls, following the trail of hair as it narrows until his fingers are resting on the edge of his lacy underthings.  
  
“What is it My?” he asks as he runs the tip of his finger along the top of them. Icy eyes follow the movement, Mycroft’s lips still parted and his fingers digging into the arms of his plush chair.  
  
The eloquent man’s rare silence emboldens Greg further and he makes a slow turn to show off how the curve of his arse is displayed by the cut of the lace. Another soft growl fills the study as Greg peers over his shoulder at his lover, whose attention is currently fixed on the satin bow perched right at the small of his back.  
  
He turns again, facing a panting Mycroft as he trails his fingers down the most challenging part of his ensemble, the stretchy black garters that are holding up their matching silk stocking.  
  
His own voice is a growl when he asks, “Like what you see?”  
  
Mycroft’s uncharacteristically short answer is confirmation enough.  
  
“Come. _Here_.”  
  
Greg obeys, walking slowly, the feeling of shifting silk and lace over his skin adding to the heady arousal that his lover’s reaction is firing in his blood. He stops in front of Mycroft, kicking the man’s legs wider when he doesn’t move them as Greg reaches him. He can feel his cock leaking, the lace offering little protection from the cool blue eyes that are taking in every inch of his body in long sweeps.  
  
Greg knows that every detail is being recorded, catalogued, and filed away in that extraordinary brain. He waits, allowing Mycroft several long moments before he moves to straddle him in the chair. Biting his lip at the sensation of the silk brushing over the fine fabric of Mycroft’s trousers, Greg wriggles to get comfortable in the other man’s lap.  
  
It’s only then that Mycroft looks into his eyes, wonder and worship shining in their cool depths. And Greg…Greg feels the weight of his blessed existence at being the one to put such things in those eyes that had once been just as lonely, just as hopeless, just as jaded  as his own.  
  
Mycroft’s fingers are still digging into the arms of his chair when Greg frames his face with his strong, sure hands. He looks into those eyes, letting all the trust, all the love, all the thankfulness he feels for this unique being shine in his own warm eyes as he leans down to brush their lips together in the most tender of kisses.  
  
Apparently, that was all it took to unleash Mycroft from the spell he was under.  
  
His long fingers are everywhere, running over the curve of Greg’s arse, sliding up the naked expanse of his back to tangle in his silver strands and angle his head for a devouring kiss. They slide back down, scratching hard rivulets of sensation from Greg’s shoulders to the top of his arse, causing him to throw back his head and grind down on the answering hardness at Mycroft’s groin.  
  
“Fuck!,” he cries when Mycroft bites at his nipple, tugging with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue. “ _My_ …” Greg whines when fingers slide beneath the lacy fabric to cup his arse. He grasps at Mycroft’s shoulders, since his lover had forgone his jacket some time ago, his fingers gripping at the back of Mycroft’s waistcoat as the curves of his arse are scratched by blunt fingernails, something Mycroft knows he loves.  
  
Mycroft is kissing and biting at the exposed curve of Greg’s neck as he is panting out, “ _Gregory_ … _Gregory_ …” in his own desperate voice. Greg feels frenzied, frazzled and desperate as he rocks his cock, now leaking droplets through the lace, against Mycroft’s, which is still trapped in his trousers.  
  
With a rare show of hidden strength, Mycroft stands abruptly, twisting to deposit Greg on the great, mahogany desk. He pushes the older man back onto the pristine surface before long, delicate, capable fingers trace the edges of lace panties and silk stockings.  
  
Greg watches him with heavy eyes, one arm behind his head, the other alongside his body so he can grip the edge of the desk with strong fingers. The muscles of his thighs quiver as Mycroft runs his palms down each silk clad leg all the way to his feet.  
  
There is something indefinably erotic about lying back in exquisite underthings while one’s lover stands over you in an equally exquisite bespoke suit. Greg doesn’t have much time to really consider this revelation as Mycroft brings a stockinged foot to his mouth. Greg’s own grip turns white knuckled as his fingers grasp the edge of the desk. Mycroft takes his time as he sucks and bites at Greg’s toes, causing his lover’s cock to jerk in it’s lacy confines.  
  
When he licks a flat stroke over the arch before biting down, the arm behind Greg’s head flails wide, scrabbling for it’s own anchor and knocking the files that had been neatly stacked down to the floor. Information that could topple countries rains down, unheeded by either of the men as the pages scatter.  
  
The thought occurs to Greg that when he opened his present earlier, he really believed he would feel more embarrassed wearing women’s high-end lingerie. But here he was, lying back on Mycroft’s desk, watching his composed lover devour him like the most delicious treat on earth. True, he was still a little embarrassed, but somehow, anytime they did something that left Greg feeling this way, it always added a heat to the entire situation.  
  
Bites trail up from Greg’s foot, drawing harsh cries with each application of teeth as he watches Mycroft work his way from ankle to inner thigh. He protests lightly when Mycroft pulls away to sit in his previously abandoned chair. He rolls it closer, placing himself comfortably between Greg’s legs. Nimble fingers skirt along the tops of Greg’s thighs, where the stockings meet skin, tracing the lace borders and sending frissons of pleasure out from where they touch.  
  
The lace of the knickers does little to shield his cock from the hot, open mouthed kisses he is receiving.  
  
“My god, Gregory, I never imagined,“ Mycroft groans as he kisses. "You look so…” and then he reaches a trapped bollock, licking at where the edge of the panties can’t quite contain them.  
  
“ _Fuckable_.”  
  
Toes curl in fine silk and hips cant to offer better access as Mycroft moves to suck at Greg’s cock hungrily. It’s trapped, the length completely engorged and pointing towards his hip - since that position had seemed the best way to keep it in the knickers. Mycroft’s fingers slip over hipbones, teasing small circles there while his lips trail over Greg’s cock, leaving wet patches of fabric wherever his mouth has touched.  
  
The sucking kisses wander back down, pulling at the tightly drawn skin of Greg’s bollocks again as fingers slip below the lace at his hips, lifting the fabric enough that his penis is freed. It twitches, sliding to point towards his navel now that its free from the snug grip of the panties. When Mycroft settles them back, the head Greg’s cock peeks out.  
  
It’s maddening, the texture of the wet lace on the sensitive skin of his shaft and bollocks. The contrast of the heat of Mycroft’s mouth and breath and the cool air of the study has his skin breaking out in goose bumps. Mycroft swirls his tongue along the lace clad shaft, circling delicately when he reaches the plump glans. He angles his head, mouthing at it while looking up Greg’s body to meet his eyes.  
  
He sucks at the frenulum, smiling as Greg whimpers and jerks his hips. Long, dexterous fingers drift down the curves of inner thighs, dipping past lace to tease at the tightly pulled skin of Greg’s testicles. Mycroft keeps up his mouthing at Greg’s cock as his hands slide down the fine silk stockings, circling Greg’s ankles and lifting them to frame his own legs in the chair. He shifts the lace of the panties down farther, freeing the thick cock and heavy bollocks from it before he swallows the head fully, Greg’s cries ringing in his ears.  
  
Greg burrowed his toes underneath his lover's thighs in the chair, fighting the desire to use his new leverage to thrust into Mycroft’s mouth. He can’t quite stop it, though his movements are far more shallow than what he really wants. Mycroft just moans around the thick cock, moving his head with the same rhythm as Greg’s small thrusts. As Greg looks down his body, he can see the edges of black lace gripping his thighs as well as where Mycroft had tugged the panties down so he can suck on Greg’s cock.  
  
Mycroft pulls off him, sucking hard enough that he can roll the gathered excess of Greg’s foreskin in his lips before releasing it to shift back down the shaft. He leans back, removing Greg’s feet from his chair and standing. He’s breathing hard, his dark hair no longer in its perfect style. Leaning down, he braces his arms on the dark wood of the desk as he captures his lover’s lips in a long kiss. It’s gentle, but still blatantly sexual with the way Mycroft slides his tongue in and out of Greg’s mouth.  
  
When the taller man pulls away, he runs his hands firmly down Greg’s chest, scratching through the hair, rolling peaked nipples between his fingertips until Greg wraps his legs around him. Fingers finally leave their grip on the edge of the desk, slipping to skate over the bulge in Mycroft’s trousers. Greg is barely aware of the breathy little pants he’s making as he undoes the fly, lowering the zip so he can tug Mycroft’s cock out from his trousers and pants. When he’s successful, he shimmies a bit, adjusting his angle so he can press their cocks together.  
  
Mycroft’s gaze shifts down to watch, as his slimmer, longer cock already damp with precome slides along Greg’s with ease. His fingers leave Greg’s nipples, slowly caressing the skin of his lover’s chest and belly before they move to grip beneath the stockinged thighs.  
  
He’s thrusting slowly along with Greg, watching their cocks even as Greg is watching Mycroft’s face. There’s that look of utter absorption that he adores, covets even, and he’s a little bit shocked when after a few moments Mycroft’s voice breaks the cadence of long moans and harsh breaths that are filling the room.  
  
“How?” Mycroft asks. His voice is low, rough, unlike Greg is used to hearing, and it sends a shiver of anticipation down his spine.  
  
It wouldn’t take much to send him over the edge as they are now; a tighter grip, a faster pace, and in a few minutes, he would be coming. But that’s not what he really wants. There’s something in Mycroft’s eyes that he’s only rarely seen before: an animalistic frenzy that is being held tightly in check. Only, Greg doesn’t want Mycroft to hold it back, he wants it to come out and play.  
  
He stops moving his hand over their cocks, sliding his feet down the back of Mycroft’s legs as he sits up. Mycroft watches him, his eyes lidded, looking down at Greg as the shorter man slides off the desk to stand flush against his chest. He runs his hands up Mycroft’s arms, clad in their own version of fine silk, to tangle in his hair as he pulls him down for a kiss.  
  
This one is not gentle; it’s teeth and tongues and it ends with Greg’s body crushed to Mycroft’s chest and his back bowed under the demand of his lips. When he pulls back, Mycroft is staring at him, one hand tangled in Greg’s gray-kissed strands, the other wound around the middle of his back.  
  
He lets Greg go when a hand pushes at his chest, and Greg turns slowly in the small space, Mycroft‘s cock brushing over the curve of his arse as he whispers the answer to Mycroft’s question over his shoulder. “I want you inside me, My,” Greg grates out hotly, laying over the desk. He positions himself so that his hard cock hangs down and his arse curves up in an obvious invitation and display before he finishes with, “I want you to fuck me across your desk until we both come. Don’t you fucking stop ’til you make me scream.”  
  
There’s a sharp gasp as Greg settles his finger over the edge of the desk near his head once more and then Mycroft is upon him. There’s a rip as Mycroft tugs the panties aside sharply and then Greg feels teeth in the plump curve of his arse. Mycroft is biting and sucking hard enough that there will be marks for days. He attacks each cheek, his hands running up and down Greg’s stockings all the while. A hot tongue runs over the abused flesh, circling closer and closer to the exposed cleft of Greg’s arse.  
  
And then it’s there, prodding his most intimate spot, flicking and rolling in flat brushes until Greg is pushing his arse into Mycroft’s face and begging. He can hear the filthy sounds of wet kisses being placed there as Mycroft’s finger leave off their explorations of silk covered legs to spread his arse cheeks open.  
  
When Mycroft plunges his tongue in, the hot spike of pleasure runs directly to Greg’s cock. Heat gathers in his belly and Greg cries out a warning, “My! Wait!” Fingers grip at the base of his cock as others tug at his bollocks, pulling them firmly away from his body. “ _Ohhh_ , fuck!” Greg groans at the treatment.  
  
The pleasure doesn’t lessen, but the urgency of his orgasm fades. The tongue never slows its relentless pace, continuing its plunging in and out, flicking at his rim. Occasionally, it licks over Greg’s perineum, sliding over the weight of his testicles and down to lap at the leaking head of his cock. When Greg gets too close to orgasm, Mycroft repeats his ministrations to stave it off.  
  
Mycroft’s agile tongue alternates between deep, slow thrusts and sharp stabbing ones. He’s groaning out _“Gregory,”_ and _“Fuck,”_ and _“I love it when you make those sound,”_ and _“Is it good?”_ and _“You are so delicious,“_ while Greg quivers uselessly and sobs Mycroft’s name.  
  
Greg isn’t sure how long Mycroft feasts on his arse. It feels like hours. He’s only aware of the need coiled in his belly and the desperate sounds that are filling the room. When thumbs slide into his arse, spreading Greg’s now soft entrance open so that Mycroft can lick inside of him, catching and sucking on his loosened flesh , Greg can’t stop his begging.  
  
“My…My…Please. Fuck me… _please_.” It’s spoken softly, brokenly to his lover, and Mycroft finally complies.  
  
Greg feels fingers beneath his hipbones, shifting him back to stand on quivering legs before he is turned and laid face up on the desk once more. Mycroft winds his lover’s legs behind his back, staring down at the decadent sight Greg is presenting him. He gathers moisture in his mouth, spitting it into his palm and slicking it down his already wet cock.  
  
Greg looks up at Mycroft. His lover is a sight to behold; his face is red, a rare sheen of sweat making him shine ethereally in the light, he has saliva on his chin and his lips are red and faintly swollen. Greg reaches down to gather the slick fluid that his own cock is producing, moving to add it to the wetness on Mycroft’s cock before his shaking fingers line him up with his ready entrance.  
  
The first push is slow, agonizingly slow, and Greg whines, correctly guessing that Mycroft is concerned about the lack of their usual lubricant. The effortless slide into his body should be enough to let his lover know Greg is absolutely ready, but just in case, he says, “Fuck, yes.” When his assurance is met with another too cautious thrust, Greg growls and tightens his legs, gritting out, “Stop teasing me and _fuck me_ , you _arse_!”  
  
There is that flash in Mycroft’s eyes and the next thrust is anything but gentle. Trousers and pants have been pushed to mid thigh by now and the sound of slapping skin joins the sounds already echoing in the room. Each punishing thrust is angled to skim over Greg’s prostate, and he’s absolutely certain that’s all he’s going to need to come since he’s already been strung too tightly for this to last very much longer.  
  
Looking up at Mycroft, he’s pretty sure the other man is thinking along the same lines, which is why he makes a shocked sound when fingers circle the base of his cock firmly, and the thrusts slow to their earlier pace. His hips thrust in vain and he looks up at Mycroft in disbelief, seeing his own desperation mirrored there in the mad light of his lover’s eyes and the beads of sweat running down his face.  
  
“Why?” Greg keens, uncaring how needy his voice sounds even to his own ears. He tries to stroke himself, but those deceptively delicate fingers grip his wrist and tug his hand away. His other receives the same treatment when he abandons the grip on the desk to try and pry off Mycroft’s grip on his cock.  
  
With Greg’s wrists pinned, but his cock now free, Mycroft begins those maddeningly patient thrusts again, and not for the first time, Greg is reminded of Mycroft’s near limitless self restraint.  
  
Greg is truly sobbing now, his hips twitching and his back arching as he writhes in frustration. Finally, he can take no more and he screams, his voice hoarse between clenched teeth as he calls Mycroft a bastard, an arse, and an impressive list of other unsavory expletives.  
  
Mycroft merely laughs, though it was strained and sounded, perhaps, just a little insane.  
  
“You told me you wanted me to make you _scream_ ,” he said in that same slightly crazed tone before he let go of his control. Greg’s wrist were released in favor of Mycroft bracing himself against the desk as he leaned forward and pounded into Greg’s welcoming arse.  
  
Greg didn’t stop screaming, only now he was shouting out wordless encouragement along with his cursing.  
  
It didn’t take long at all for the wild thrusting to push him right back to the brink, his body seizing before his orgasm ripped through him, his cock pulsing out long jets of pearly ejaculate all over Mycroft’s waistcoat and his own chest. A few spurts fell onto the black lace that was pulled down below his bollocks, standing out in obscene relief. Greg’s cock was still giving fruitless little bobs from Mycroft’s continued drags across his prostate as he watched his lover go rigid before shuddering hard. He gave out his own scream of, “Gregory!” while he came inside the rippling and clenching arse of his lover.  
  
Mycroft collapsed on top of him, both men gasping for air and waiting for the waves of aftershocks to settle before either tried to move. Greg wrapped up his lover in his arms and legs as he lie beneath him. He smiled when soft kisses were placed all along his neck and face, a soft whisper of, “I love you,” filling his heart with warmth. He answered with a whisper of his own as well as his own kisses, finding Mycroft’s mouth and gently tangling their tongues together. They lay like that for long minutes, content to bask in the afterglow.  
   
And then Mycroft’s phone rang.  
  
Both men groaned at the intrusion. Mycroft shifted back, his now softened cock slipping out from between Greg’s legs. His eyes followed the trail of pearly fluid that leaked from the orifice as it twitched. The phone rang again, interrupting his staring and he shook his head as he answered the phone, even though he would rather drag Greg to their bedroom and have another round.  
  
Greg recognized the tone that Mycroft was using as one that would have him at his office soon. Well, not too soon. Greg looked over at his well debauched lover as he sat up from the desk.  
  
Mycroft’s waistcoat was sporting some impressive stains, and though his pants and trousers had been pulled up, they were fantastically wrinkled. It looked like they hadn’t escaped all of the damage of Greg’s climax either.

Greg smiled as he slipped off the desk, glad his legs supported him despite the way they still trembled. He leaned down to kiss Mycroft on the cheek and the man reached to squeeze Greg’s hand, tangling their fingers until he hung up the phone.  
  
Greg could see the clear disappointment in his eyes when he turned back.  
  
“Gregory-” he started. Greg kissed him again instead of letting him finish.  
  
“I know love. Go on, save the world again. I’ll be here waiting when you get home.”  
  
A soft look came over Mycroft’s face, quickly followed by an arched eyebrow and a slow smile.  
  
“Will you be wearing that?”  
  
Greg laughed, turning to look at where the lace had given way to Mycroft‘s earlier abuse. The bow was still intact, though it looked a little squashed. He grinned back at Mycroft, who was looking at his arse like he was considering adding another bite mark to those already decorating the flesh.  
  
“I think you tore it.“  
  
“I’ll buy you more. Whatever you want.”  
  
Greg laughed again at the sordid tone, scooping his robe off the floor and pulling it on.  
  
“You better get going, love. You know how Anthea gets if she beats you to one of your emergency summons.”  
  
Greg continued to smile as Mycroft sighed, “Indeed,” as he rose from his seat.  
  
Greg drank in the sight his rumpled partner presented, knowing from experience that it would only be a short time before Mycroft looked just as pristine as he always did.  
  
The pair made their way to separate showers, forfeiting the shared one they usually liked to enjoy after lovemaking because Mycroft wouldn’t have time now that he had been called away.  
  
*****  
  
Mycroft was ready to go back home.  
  
The fiasco that had occurred in Bolivia had hardly needed the level of hysteria that had been indicated to him on the phone hours earlier. Still, he was glad that it was over quickly, and he was sure Anthea would be as well.  
  
Mycroft looked up as she entered his office after a short knock.  
  
She stepped into the room before sinking into a chair in front of his desk. His eyebrows rose at the elegant plum and black wrapped package she was carrying. It looked very familiar.  
  
“Sir, I believe there was a mix-up with our gifts.”  
  
She raised her own eyebrow as he stared at her in confusion. When Mycroft made no indication that he understood what she meant, she placed the package on his desk and opened the lid.  
  
Inside was the leather belt and gloves he had bought for Gregory while he had been in France.  
  
He blinked at it.  
  
“Why do you have Gregory’s gift?” he heard himself ask.  
  
He knew why. She had already told him. Both of Anthea’s eyebrows raised as she considered the question.  
  
“Why don’t you have Molly’s gift?” she countered.  
  
The box before him clearly held his selected items for his own lover, which meant the box he had gifted Gregory held the items that had been meant for…  
  
Anthea’s and Mycroft’s eyes met across the desk as they sat in silence.  
  
Mycroft was the first to break it.  
  
“Please,” he said his voice betraying nothing of the recent revelation, “Use my account to buy whatever you like. In fact, I insist you spare no expense.”  
  
Really, if she bought one of everything the boutique offered, it wouldn’t be enough thanks for the happy mistake the mix up had granted Mycroft.  
  
Anthea was not an idiot. Far from it actually. Mycroft watched as the tiniest quirk of her lip twitched.  
  
“That’s very kind of you sir,” she said.  
  
“There is one condition.”  
  
“Of course, sir.”  
  
“We are never to speak of this again. To _anyone_.”  
  
True to their agreement, when packages periodically appeared on Mycroft’s desk in the future - and then made their way home to his own lover - no mention of them was ever made.  
  
  
  
Greg's stockings and garters  
http://41.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_la9zpz8tH01qdisuwo1_500.jpg

Greg's panties  
http://24.media.tumblr.com/d448f995ce7053c1952ed70046d73d63/tumblr_mg7oyaEMcx1rkw04co1_250.jpg

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed the twist at the end! It is actually what inspired the entire thing. I love questions and comments, so feel free to leave them!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr if you want.  
> http://romancebyfaye.tumblr.com/


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